


Shuffling Forward

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Impaired Judgment (and other excuses) [78]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 11:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “You look stupid,” Erin says.Jared probably does look stupid right now. Like, objectively. He canfeelthat grin carving across his face.“Erin,” his mom says. “It’s his birthday.”“She gets to say I look stupid the other 364 days of the year?” Jared asks.“Only when you do,” his mom says.





	Shuffling Forward

In all his anxiety, Jared forgot how fucking great the playoffs could feel. They absolutely destroy Swift Current. Routs every single game — the closest the Broncos ever get to winning is a 5-2 loss, and they go down 6-1 in Game Four. The Hitmen sealed the deal by the end of the first, and the rest of the game is just punctuation in front of an increasingly empty arena. 

“Sweep, baby, sweep!” Sam yells in his ear, hanging off his shoulders as they wait to hug their goalie, and Jared is too happy to mind dragging his heavy ass across the ice.

They get right on the bus after, and Jared doesn’t think anyone sleeps for even a second of the five hour drive, doesn’t think anyone could if they wanted to, the noise level just below shouting. Jared has to mute a call from Bryce, text an apologetic _I don’t think I’d be able to hear a single thing you said, nobody’s shut up since we won_ , which gets a _lol_ , followed by a _gwg, superstar_. Jared had almost forgot. Well, not forgot, necessarily, but scoring the game-winner doesn’t feel as impactful when it was halfway through the first and everyone kept piling on the goals after. He had two points after that, though they were both assists.

Bryce is asleep when Jared gets home just past four, though he mumbles something indecipherable when Jared crawls into bed, throws an arm around Jared’s chest like even sleeping he has to be as close as possible. Jared beams at the ceiling, so hyped he half wants to poke Bryce awake, make him share the feeling, so full of it he could burst, but Bryce has practice in like, six hours, so that’s probably a dick move. Bryce is long gone by the time Jared wakes up, though he’s left him a cheerful congratulatory note, a pot full of coffee.

The Flames clinch, next game. They were cutting it close — they’ve only got three more left in the season — but it doesn’t matter. They clinched, and not long after Jared starts the second round — he has absolutely no idea who he’s going to be playing since the Pats and the Warriors are knotted two right now, he just knows he’s headed right back to Saskatchewan soon — the Flames will be in the race themselves, and Bryce starts anxiously scoreboard watching, because depending on how things play out, they might be dealing with the North Stars — not bad — or the Golden Seals — not good. 

No one’s an easy opponent, Jared knows that, knows the playoffs are a whole other beast, and sometimes it’s like a whole other sport, something even more endurance based. You can’t count anyone out, can’t assume you’ll beat anyone. Still, Jared is also anxiously scoreboard watching, hoping that Flames-North Stars matchup materializes. The Flames are a stronger team than last year, got Bryce a little goal support from the bottom six, got an actual blue line, or at least one pairing that’s legitimately strong. Goaltending’s better. They have a chance to make it to at least the second round, not fold like they did last year.

Just as long as it’s not the damn Golden Seals, who haven’t lost a game to the Flames in — Jared cannot remember the last time the Flames beat them. Standings don’t mean shit when a team has your number.

*

Jared honestly doesn’t pay that much attention to his birthday coming up — he’s got bigger shit to focus on right now, with the playoffs. Pats and Warriors are still knotted up. Jared is going to have to watch that Game Seven, see what he’s about to be dealing with. 

“You say that like you haven’t watched all the other games,” Bryce says.

“I’m surveilling the enemy!” Jared says.

“That’s your coach’s job,” Bryce says, but he watched Game Six with Jared the morning after it happened, kept pointing out things that Jared hadn’t even noticed. It looks like Masters is playing injured. On the one hand, Jared feels bad for the guy. On the other hand, if the Pats go through there is no way Jared isn’t ruthlessly using that fact to his advantage. No mercy.

The night Jared turns nineteen, Bryce has a game, the last home one. He gets Jared four tickets for it, and it’s nice to go with the family, especially because it’s probably easier to not blurt out ‘oh hey I’m engaged’ when you’re watching a game, rather than sitting across the table from your parents, squirming a little, because they look like they _know_ things. Which they do. Obviously. Bryce literally asked them for permission, they know Bryce wants to marry him. He’s still a little pissed at them for saying no, but it’s not like he can call them out on it without mentioning the whole engaged thing.

 _teams going out after win or lose_ , Bryce texts him right after warm-ups end, probably right in the lull between that and the pump up speech.

Jared’s not surprised. They have a two day break, and they had a hell of a season. Still, it’s annoying, because there’s no way Bryce can bow out in a non-conspicuous way, and selfishly, Jared would actually like to hang out with him on his birthday.

 _want to come?_ Bryce follows up with.

 _Seriously?_ Jared texts.

 _ya_ , Bryce responds immediately.

 _You’re not going to ignore me all night, are you?_ Jared texts, because it’s not like he’s huge on birthdays or anything, but that would be a pretty huge damper on his.

 _promise_ , Bryce texts.

“You look stupid,” Erin says.

Jared probably does look stupid right now. Like, objectively. He can _feel_ that grin carving across his face.

“Erin,” his mom says. “It’s his birthday.”

“She gets to say I look stupid the other 364 days of the year?” Jared asks.

“Only when you do,” his mom says.

Nice. Happy birthday Jared, have some family togetherness.

“Boyfriend had a good season,” his dad says suddenly, unprompted, and gruff tone aside, it’s pretty damn nice. Probably meant as a birthday present, all ‘for Jared’s birthday I will say one (1) nice thing about Bryce Justin Marcus, and hockey is the only subject I can think of that won’t physically hurt me to say’. Jared’s so touched he doesn’t even correct him with ‘fiancé had a _great_ season’, and only partly because there’d be a meltdown and Jared would actually like to watch the game.

“Season’s not over yet,” Jared says, instead, and his dad grunts, but like, approvingly. 

It’s a tight as hell game, which is ridiculous, because the Kings aren’t even close to being in the playoffs, but that’s a spoiler for you. Jared’s thankfully never been in that position — he’s had the luck of being on competitive teams, Edmonton is going to be a fun adjustment — but he’s had his nights ruined by teams that have nothing to gain or lose, really — who’d actually gain more by losing — and lay it all on the line anyway.

The Flames win it in a shootout, which kind of sucks, just ROW wise, but is two points that might make a difference in who they’re facing, and Jared exchanges hugs with his parents and even Erin in the concourse, promises to go there for dinner soon, though he’ll probably see them all again for Game One, if only for a couple minutes.

Bryce texts him the address of the bar they’re going to, but Jared hangs around a bit after, not wanting to show up before all of them, talks the next Hitmen series with Steve, who’s working security that night, texts Chaz to see if he wants to head over together. Bryce may have promised not to ignore him, but that’s asking for a bit much, and anyway, Chaz is going to be out of there before Bryce, probably, just because of media stuff.

Chaz meets him outside with one of the other rookies, and Jared’s grateful enough that he doesn’t even complain that they take an Uber for what would honestly be not a far walk. He didn’t just play a game, after all.

Chaz tells fellow rookie and like…every other Flame as they slowly trickle in that it’s Jared’s birthday, and on the one hand it’s kind of a ridiculous feeling, having a bunch of Calgary Flames wish him a happy birthday? Like, kid Jared would be over the fucking moon to know that would happen one day. On the other hand, Chaz is making him seem like some pity case whose dream has always been to have the Calgary Flames wish him a happy birthday. 

“I mean, wasn’t it?” Chaz asks, when Jared hisses as much to him.

“Fuck off,” Jared says under his breath.

“Bryce,” Chaz says loudly. “You know my friend Jared, it’s his birthday!”

He hates Chaz. He elbows him hard in the side so Chaz is aware of that.

Bryce has a slightly funny smile on his face. Jared’s not sure how to catalogue that one.

“Happy birthday,” he says, like he hadn’t already said it over twelve hours ago, mouthed against the back of Jared’s neck, before he got up and went around the corner to get takeout, all insistent about Jared having breakfast in bed.

“Thanks,” Jared says. 

“You want a birthday drink or something?” Bryce asks.

“Chaz got me one,” Jared says, holding up his beer.

“I’ll buy you the next one then,” Bryce says.

“Cool,” Jared says, and when Chaz nudges his foot under the table, Jared steps on his. Hard.

Bryce disappears to the bar, and Jared kind of worries that he’s going to hide out there — with less pretending to flirt with poor women, at least, because Bryce has insisted he’s quit that shit and Chaz has supported that statement. He does kind of float from group to group for a bit, never lingering more than a minute or two — Jared knows he doesn’t like a lot of these guys, and it is sadly visibly mutual — before he ends up at Chaz’s and Jared’s table. 

“Want that drink?” Bryce asks. 

“Still drinking the first,” Jared says.

“Jared,” Bryce says, and it is — probably good it is just Jared and Chaz sitting here, because Jared has heard that Jared hundreds of times, it’s the whiny ‘Jared, _c’mon_ ’, and it makes it kind of obvious they know each other. “It’s your birthday.”

“Birthdays do not require getting drunk,” Jared says. “Who’ll take my stumbling ass home? Chaz?”

Someone kicks him under the table. He doesn’t know who, and neither of their faces are showing it. He narrows his eyes, considering, then kicks them both. 

“Hey,” Chaz says, injured sounding. “What was that for?”

Either Chaz is a better actor than Jared has given him credit for, or Jared has found his culprit. 

“Rude, Bryce,” Jared says.

“You’re rude,” Bryce mutters.

He doesn’t stick at their table for too long — just for the length of his beer, which he finishes when Jared’s still got half his left, and Jared is not like, noting it or anything, Chaz is done his too, he’s just…okay, noting it — brings Chaz and Jared another round before starting that bouncing off the group thing, kind of explicitly being there without being in any group, but it doesn’t feel like he’s avoiding Jared or anything, just that he’s doing what he does every time he goes out, feels obligated to do. It kind of breaks Jared’s heart.

“This what it’s like every time?” Jared asks.

“Like, in general, or Beej?” Chaz asks.

“Second one,” Jared asks.

“Lately, yeah,” Chaz says. “He chills with me sometimes, but it’s probably like—”

A little different when his fiancé’s at the table and he’s worried about slipping up. Jared would move around, make that easier for him, but he doesn’t really know anyone but Chaz. Well, and Bryce, obviously.

“He’s like, trying,” Chaz says. “To fit in.”

“Yeah,” Jared says, quiet, runs his finger over the condensation on his glass.

Bryce seems to be having a legit conversation with Casterley now — there’s some hand gestures from Bryce, some nodding from Casterley. Probably about the game, since they’re lineys, and Jared watches for a minute, because he doesn’t get to see Bryce like this, really, outside of the environment that’s theirs, that Bryce is comfortable in.

Chaz elbows his side, mostly gentle, and Jared looks away, takes a sip of his birthday beer, which is going kind of warm, then switching to the one Bryce got him, which is cold at least.

“Waste of beer I bought you,” Chaz says, offended, and then pulls it across the table and finishes it himself.

“Gross,” Jared says.

“Wasting beer is gross,” Chaz retorts. “If you don’t like beer, I can get you something else, you know.”

“Yeah?” Jared asks. “You going to get me a white wine spritzer?”

“If I have to,” Chaz says with a grimace. “But only because it’s your birthday.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” Jared says. “Playoffs.”

“The team you’re playing hasn’t even wrapped their series up,” Chaz says, then marches off, apparently to get him a white wine spritzer.

Jared does actually like that better. Blame Elaine for introducing them to him.

“What the hell are you drinking?” Bryce asks when he next swings by the table.

“White wine spritzer,” Chaz says long-sufferingly before Jared can say anything. He’s a snob.

“You’re a snob,” Jared says.

Bryce is smiling. Jared knows that smile. That smile is totally aware that Jared had never had one in his life before they went to BC for Christmas.

“Girl drink,” Bryce says anyway.

“You say that in front of Ashley and she’ll beat you with a bottle of beer,” Chaz says. “The stuff she drinks is like pure molasses.”

“Where is Ashley, anyway?” Jared asks.

“Finals start next week, man,” Chaz says. “Plus she works part time. She ain’t got time for my shit.”

“You make plenty of money, why does she have a job?” Bryce says, looking genuinely confused.

“Dude,” Chaz says, then looks over at Jared.

Jared shrugs weakly. Teaching Bryce about financial independence is clearly beyond his capabilities, considering the ongoing disagreement about pre-nups. 

“Quit your NHL career before it starts, J,” Chaz says. “You’re set.”

“You’ve got me covered, then?” Jared asks, because he can see Bryce’s wince, and even though none of the other Flames seem like they’re in earshot, that was a bit more of an allusion than Chaz should have done in public.

“What?” Chaz says, and then at a kick to his ankle, “Oh yeah, I gotcha. Never have to work a day. Quit now, I feel like the Hitmen will be just fine without you.”

He gets a much harder kick to the ankle for that one.

“Jared’s integral to the Hitmen,” Bryce says, all hurt sounding, which is _way more obvious_ than Chaz’s stupid joke. Maybe it is best he ignores Jared all night.

“Go get me another spritzer,” Jared says. 

“Fine,” Bryce says. “Only because it’s your birthday.”

“You guys are so obvious,” Chaz mutters when Bryce leaves.

“You didn’t help,” Jared hisses back.

“Sorry,” Chaz says. “Can probably beg off early if you want to leave.”

“Hide the WAG from sight?” Jared says. Or. Whatever he is. HAB? Ugh. The Habs are the worst, all smug about ancient history because they have no recent success of their own. And WHABG is just unwieldy.

“I meant like hang out at mine,” Chaz says. “Or yours. Play video games. Not have to yell over music.”

“I mean, I’d probably prefer that,” Jared says. “But it’d be rude to ditch considering, you know.”

“He can come too,” Chaz says, then wanders off to do a little head tilted convo at the bar — Chaz is taller than Bryce, which Jared never registered before and is kind of weird — and when Jared’s finished his two spritzers — what, they’re like, half club soda — and Chaz the rest of Jared’s abandoned Bryce birthday beer — gross — Chaz drags him out, wandering determinedly in the direction of Bryce and Jared’s place.

Jared glances back.

“He’s coming,” Chaz says. “Finishing his beer first. We’re being all stealth. Said he’d meet us at your place.”

“Not that stealth,” Jared says, but quits craning his head and takes the lead. “We have like, no beer at home,” he says.

“No worries,” Chaz says. “I’m fucking wiped, man, if I’m going to conserve some energy for the playoffs I’ve got to quit going out. These dudes are going to kill me, and they don’t take no for an answer.”

“And yet you’re coming to play video games,” Jared says.

“For like, a few rounds, then I’m heading home,” Chaz says. “Better this than having another there and possibly getting bullied into going to a club and suddenly not getting home until, like, four.”

“Glad we’re your excuse out?” Jared says.

“My favourite excuse,” Chaz says, then noogies Jared’s stupid blond head until Jared elbows him in the ribs.

Bryce gets there maybe ten minutes after them, mid-round of Mario Kart, seems a little tipsy but not bad — good enough to barely lose to Chaz after he insists on playing the loser. Chaz is true to his word, and not even an hour later he says, “Alright, I’m out.” He’s yawned like, three times already, so Jared doesn’t bother to chirp him about just being a sore loser. The yawn’s contagious, and some birthday sex before a full night’s sleep sounds pretty tempting. “See you in a few BJ,” he says, and they do this fistbump Jared’s never seen them do, before he pulls Jared into a loose hug. “Beat the shit out of Saskatchewan, J.”

“That’s the plan,” Jared says. 

“I got like, birthday champagne, if you want,” Bryce says after Chaz leaves. “Kind of like a wine spritzer.”

“Raincheck?” Jared asks. “Save it for like, playoff winning champagne?”

“Tired?” Bryce asks.

“I honestly just want like, a handjob and sleep,” Jared says.

Bryce snorts. “Low expectations,” he says, and insists on a blowjob and sleep, which Jared isn’t going to argue with or anything.

“I think that went okay?” he says after.

“Your bjs are, as always, excellent,” Jared says, drowsy and agreeable.

“You know what I meant,” Bryce complains.

“It went fine,” Jared says. “I don’t think anyone’s going around suspiciously like, ‘yo, Bryce talked to that dude for more than twenty minutes, they’re totally banging.’ Or like, if they did, they clearly think you’re fucking Chaz too. Birthday threesome.”

“Fuck off,” Bryce says, digging his chin into Jared’s chest.

“It went good,” Jared says. “You worry too much.”

“I know,” Bryce says, quiet, fiddles with the ring, still on the chain — Jared hadn’t thought to switch back when they got home. “Good birthday?”

“I got a Flames win, free drinks, and a blowjob, it definitely wasn’t the worst,” Jared says, and pets a hand through Bryce’s hair as he feels his smile against his skin.


End file.
